Byron's Eulogy from the memorial service

I am Byron Walker, Woody Walker’s son.  I would like to thank all of you for coming today to honor my father.  I know he would appreciate it, and we his family are gratified by your presence.

The Walker farm is located at the North West corner of Iowa.  It was virgin prairie in 1883 when it was transformed by my great grandfather into a productive source of corn, soy beans with modest numbers of cattle and pigs.  Elwood Carl Walker was born on that small farm in 1921.   One of three children he was the only boy.  Dad was educated in a one room schoolhouse.   He was also educated with the daily hard work of running a farm; early morning feeding of livestock, field work, and constant maintenance.  It was there he learned the lessons of the farm including a natural place to develop his mechanical talents.



In 1938, at the age of 17 he left the farm for college.  In 1943 he graduated with a degree in electrical engineering.  WWII was raging, and not being able to qualify as an Airman, he joined the Curtiss-Wright Propeller division in what is now Fairfield, NJ.

In time he met my mother, Carlee Kerbs.  They married in 1946 and had their first of four children, Alan, in 1948.    In 1949 they moved to North Caldwell to the property Dad lived in until now. 

I hope you have an understanding of the simple, practical background Dad came from. That foundation, coupled with a curiosity, creativity and energy served him and others well for the next 64 years he lived in North Caldwell.

Dad had a love of building things.  This included all manner of machines through his powers of design, welding and clever engineering.  In my life he was the community’s “go-to” man for parade floats, fixing broken machines, and concocting mechanical solutions for anyone, club or town in need.  He enjoyed the challenge, he enjoyed the building, and he enjoyed seeing whatever it was work better than anything on the market.

He also enjoyed building community.  He and mom had an innate sense to contribute. This was more common back then, and they had the help of many like-minded townspeople. Walker’s pond was a gift they provided the town for decades, as was 12th night Christmas tree burning before the environment movement curtailed such things.   Dad was also a volunteer fireman, councilman, as well as school board member responsible for the siting and building of two schools, founder of the West Essex chapter of the Lion’s club and a few other memberships.  He was so active.  I remember him obtaining several briefcases, designating one for each of his activities.

We had a charmed home life.  You could set your watch by the family dinner time--  6pm. All in attendance we would talk about our day, with Dad often offering his unique practical view on things.  After finishing Dad would change clothes and either go to one of his meetings or go out to the shop to build something.  If we boys finished our homework before bed we could join him there to watch his magic and maybe even help. Every weekend we divvied up the chores under his direction.  Mowing the lawn with the 1946 Ford tractor, trimming, moving, fixing.  It was a boy’s wonderland of things to do. He and Mom would attend all our school plays and school functions; always there for PTA meetings and parent-teacher nights.  They were supportive and engaged.  But they were not helicopter parents: we had plenty of opportunity to play throughout the town, unattended, exploring our environment, making new friends, getting into mischief, figuring our way out of problems.

Without knowing it we gained a sense of responsibility, duty, work habits and practical skills.  And I add honor, dignity and respect through both our parent’s examples.

We all did well in high school, and all went to good colleges.  The folks were proud, they had done a good job.

Dad remained active in town affairs after the kids grew up and left home.  We kids eventually graduated from college and began our own lives.  Some of us had children, and Mom and Dad became wonderful loving grandparents.  In 1996 Mom died of cancer. Times got tougher then.  Dad stayed busy but it wasn’t the same.

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To Dad’s amazement, as time went on he got older.  Although in his head he really didn’t acknowledge it.  Woody the fixer could astound the people with his abilities.  And while his body slowly changed, his spirit did not.  And while building slowed, it did not stop-- but it did change, the projects became less physical and more toward advisory positions for the local Art and historical societies.

In time I realized his building was also a form of giving.  He came from a tradition of giving of his time and considerable talents.  With age that morphed into giving his advice, his stories and odd objects.  He became enamored with garage sales, and we were the beneficiaries of candles, books and small battery operated clocks.  Books I understood as he and all our family were avid readers.  But the junky little clocks I did not.  Nor did he, but he liked the interaction of negotiating for a $1 clock with a battery worth at least that much.  And he liked gifting us.

He remained fiercely independent although age was taking its toll.  We worried about him living alone -- all men are hazards without the guidance of a woman.  Dad led a blessed medical history, I can remember him sick in bed only once in the 18 years I lived as a boy at 400 Mountain ave.  He had that Iowa hunker-down mentality where sickness is to be persevered long enough that it would go away.  But with age that strategy falls by the wayside.  We found a wonderful aide to assure Dad had companionship, a firm reminder to eat right, take his meds and go to his doctor appointments.  She also assured him good food and someone to watch over his tendency to ignore nature’s ravages.

Dad had several health emergencies in the last 20 years.  Lung cancer caught in time, prostate cancer caught in time, colon cancer caught just in time, skin cancer caught in time.  Caught in time didn’t mean he was timely in acknowledging a problem, and we worried his hunker-down, don’t complain mentality was going to undo him.  But despite his best efforts, he managed to survive them all.  By way of example both I and the doctor near fell off our chairs when Dad, upon being told he had colon cancer, quickly, reflexively replied “we’ll see about that”.  Denial, stubbornness, stronger than dirt.  His enabling instincts as a younger man were a problem in his later years.

But he had a spirit and an inquisitiveness that made for good conversation and a wonderful grandfather.  We had him over for Sunday dinner for many years where Ruth and I with our kids got to enjoy his unique personality, interesting stories and practical observations.

And I remember an 80th birthday party for him.  It was a memorable event.  The caterer told us if you invite 100 you will get 70 or 80 attending.  We invited 100 and got so many calls that we had 120 people attend.  Dad was honored with spontaneous stories, and lots of laughter in a day of sincere respect by all who attended.  I remember thinking then that it’s far better to be honored while you’re alive and can appreciate it.

And we had a 90th birthday party of family and close friends in 2011.  Stories, laughter, tears.  It was a wonderful event.

Many of you have asked me what happened and was he comfortable at the end.  Dad’s blessed medical life had many near misses, and we oft said he was a testament to modern medicine and good genes.  He humbly submitted to a bewildered TSA when traveling, his pacemaker, stents and hip replacement tripping every alarm.

In his last days he drove himself to the hospital for a hernia operation.  The operation went well, but he became dehydrated with some congestion. We learned only then how many medical problems Dad had, and how he had informed us as little about them as possible. But his systems were all precariously balanced,and when one began to fail it affected all of them.  He was fragile and at his age he had little reserves.  An emergency trip to Intensive Care Unit stabilized him.  After four days the ventilator was removed.  To our astonishment, when the sedation wore off he asked us what day it was.  When told it was April 4th he instructed us to be sure his taxes were filed.   He was cogent and always amazed us with his thought processes.

A few days later he was returned to the general ward.  But his body again quickly failed, and we said our last goodbyes last Monday night -- only to have him rally on Tuesday almost as if to defy the doctors.  I remember at the time thinking that I was watching a museum piece of industrial equipment, having been restored, cough to life in a demonstration that they don't build them like they used to.  He was well enough to see visitors that Tuesday which he enjoyed immensely.  But that evening his breathing began to increase as his blood chemistry again went unstable, and an infection gave way to a fever.  He had an exhausting night but told us he was in no pain, nor uncomfortable.   He died after the sun rose on Wednesday surrounded by family.   A doctor stated it simply, Dad had too many old parts.

At 91 he led a good, productive and giving life.  He helped build a family, a town, and many social institutions, including schools.  He also befriended many including young waifs looking for solidity and the wisdom of a man who accepted them and embraced the fullness of life. As one friend told me, Dad let her play with sharp objects and fire implying the life skills for self-reliance and confidence.

Another remembrance sent to me in the last few days, was of a teenager’s near arrest and Dad’s comment upon seeing her enter town hall on the way to the police department was an impish ”… see you later”.  It was his way of letting you know that if you weren’t in danger (with minor injuries acceptable), then you had to sort it out.  Part of the life learning process.  That said, we always knew he was there for us.   But we had to think, solve and act.   And we were personally responsible for those acts.  Not that that held us back from stupid kid stuff, but we got good at pre-planning our escapes and anticipating the consequences.

Different but related, the man and father of the house that always treated us boys as but grasshoppers to his skills and fortitude, was at the end in a place where he could comfortably hold my hand -- something we had not done since I was a small boy.  Those meaty all-encompassing hands remained strong until the last day.  His strength amazed the doctors when they assessed him by asking him to grip their hands.  Holding hands once more was a  great comfort to me at the end and for him too.

Those of us who loved him, and ache with his passing, know Woody Walker by so many titles: Father. Husband. Grandfather. Uncle, as well as firemen, councilman, historian, genealogist, builder, tinkerer, and friend.  Being with Dad – Woody -- has been a great journey; the experiences, the views, the insights, the immense character of the man and his willingness to share it all.  Not perfect, and he certainly was a curmudgeon in his old age, albeit in a sweet gnarly way.

The world is a better place for his presence, it was a good 91 year ride, and I often had a front row seat in his journey.  In his death I appreciate him even more and am critical of time I wasted not being with him more often.  But we have so many memories, and those will be things I always treasure

I would like to end my eulogy by thanking God for the small mercies he has shown us at this difficult time

Special thanks to God’s helper Joanna Bediako,   Joanna was Dad’s live-in home health aide for 7 years.  It was Joanna who facilitated Dad’s ability to remain at 400 Mountain avenue, his beloved home.  And it was Joanna that allowed him to have a high degree of independence.  I say allowed because our biggest worry was Dad’s unwillingness to accept the aging process although its effects were clear to all of us.  Yet he drove, was forced to visit doctors, had clean clothes, a clean house, a companion to talk to that made him appropriate meals, and a garden of flowers to brighten his day.

And thanks to another of God’s helpers, Reverend Jeff Markay; a good friend to Dad and a true minister to those in need.  He visited Dad in all his hospital stays through the last 12 years, and in the most recent stay counseled the family and comforted Dad to transition him through those final days.  I will always remember Rev. Jeff telling me he had many conversations with Dad over the years about the farm, and that Dad understood the cycle of life and death from the farm, and that he was not afraid.   Near the end, Rev. Jeff asked us whether Dad knew he was dying.  Although we thought Dad did know he was dying, we hadn’t said that to him.  Jeff offered to be the truth-sayer.  Secretly I knew if I, his son, told Dad he was dying he might tell me “…we’ll see about that.”  But he listened to his friend Rev. Jeff and nodded in agreement.   Rev. Jeff also told us that Dad had a very strong sense of family and was always mindful of his position as The Dad and patriarch. Rev Jeff explained to us that it would comfort Dad the patriarch to know that he could move on if he was sure his family would be alright.  Dad was clearly comforted when he heard that.  We all had our turns saying private things to Dad and he was at peace.  I shall always be thankful for that provided us by Rev. Jeff in that difficult time.

Dad: Your love, your understanding, your wisdom, your sense of family and community will live on inside us for the rest of our days. You have touched many lives and made a difference.  Thank you for the gifts you have given me to be the man that I am, and to my children to be the young adults that they are.  It wouldn’t be the same without you. 

Goodbye, Dad.  Take good care.